


Family of Thieves

by XSuicuneX



Series: The Hunted [1]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Adoptive Parent Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Avian Phil, Gen, Good Parent Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Hybrid Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Hybrid Racism, Kinda Snapshot Kinda Slice of Life Kinda Origin Story, Magical Code Shiz, Minecraft Mechanics with Fantasy Elements, More characters more chapters, SBI before the DreamSMP, SBI family dynamics, Wilbur Soot-centric, Winged Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-15 03:28:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29182563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/XSuicuneX/pseuds/XSuicuneX
Summary: Wilbur Soot's story before joining the SMP.Once there was a boy who only wanted to play music and mess with his village.And then the Angel of Death came.
Relationships: Wilbur Soot & Phil Watson
Series: The Hunted [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2142399
Comments: 3
Kudos: 42





	Family of Thieves

**Author's Note:**

> I'm really cranking them out, huh? Well, truth is I've had these fics all laid out and I wanted Pandora's Box to have gotten to a point where I could post them without feeling like I'm jumpin' the gun. Anyways, this is my next installment after Pandora's Box is over. Woooooooo origin storyyyyyyyyyyyy yaaaaaaaay. This'll not really follow a cohesive story format and instead will be just snapshots of their lives for the most part. I just want to write about certain major events that shape like....everything in the coming fics. It'll also explain a few things, like the Hunters and the way the worlds work. So. Hope you enjoy sketchy worldbuilding cuz you're gonna get it!
> 
> The other members of the SBI are coming as well as some other characters I just kinda have a thing where I hate seeing a character or relationship in a fic and there's literally none of that in said fic. So. I update when I get to it. 
> 
> Anyway hope you enjoy.

“Did you see the what the hunters brought down?” A young voice lilted through the streets, it’s origin a group of children playing just outside of the market, where Wilbur’d been tuning his guitar. “It looked like a blaze rod, but it was glowing like a charged creeper head!”

“Cool!” One of the other kids replied, the other’s oo’ing and aw’ing in suit. “Do you think it’d explode like one too?”

“That’s probably why they hunted it down.” One of the older children predictably butted in, all no-nonesense and full of facts they barely understood. “Can’t have adventurers blowing up in the nether, at least not like that. It’s not how these things work.” Everyone agreed, though a few kids lamented that ‘a charged blaze rod would be cool…’

Wilbur laughed and shook his head, before plucking out a few tunes to warm his fingers up. _He_ was smart enough to know that hunting the blaze was about a bit more than just removing what should’ve been. Unusual mobs tended to mean glitches in a world, and without a proper admin to correct them, all kinds of nasty surprises could show up and ruin a player’s life. It could corrupt the whole world, and then they’d have to move, those that survived at any rate.

Not that Hunters did any of this work for free, of course. They were paid quite handsomely for their services thank you, and for other services besides, some less savory than others. But that didn’t affect Wilbur, and he was too young to care about such things, only thirteen and concerned with his next song, his next trick, how he could charm his friends and family, how he could get into trouble and back out of it with the most fun possible. That was what mattered to him, not the glory of hunters and their prey.

“Wilbur!” His parents soon called for him, after the few scant hours he had to laze about and practice. He reluctantly got up from where he sat to head home for dinner.

Then he heard the groans, moaning noises that sounded almost human, but not quite. A smell, nasty and rotten wafting through the air and making him gag. Wilbur glanced behind him.

Thousands.

He ran, dashing for his home, but the mobs bullrushed him, flanking and blocking his path. The hoard went after anything and everything that looked remotely human, knocking on doors and walls until they caved under their rotting arms. Wil lost track of his path, ducking into corners, alleyways, gutters, all places he’d use when he was running from trouble, now trouble had a different name and it wanted his life. He slipped.

He fell.

Into a ravine, one of those annoying quarries that starts under a town for resources, everybody complained about covering it up, of course, but inevitably _someone_ would crack the damn thing open again. Wil groaned in pain, dragging himself into an overhang, hiding amongst the left over stone as he cradled an injured leg, fear of it being broken clogging his throat, keeping him from screaming in response to the cries of the dying.

He shut his eyes, and prayed.

Hours later, light peaked into the ravine, a slash of it covering the ground in front of him. The dying sounds of zombies slowly petered off, and Wilbur breathed, carefully listening to anything, anything other than their groans.

He heard nothing for the longest time.

Wingbeats cut the silence, large, slow flaps overhead, and he’d be equally terrified if he weren’t so tired. He stayed where he was, still hidden, ignoring the throbbing in his leg as he tried not to _think_ , tried not to _feel_. Sudden footsteps sounded above his head, along the edge of the quarry. “Hello?” A voice called. Human, male. “Is anyone still alive?”

Wilbur’s heart thumped in his chest, and he scrambled to stand, only to hiss in pain at his leg. “H-here!” He called out, voice raspy and sore, had he been screaming before? “I’m down here!”

Sounds of wingbeats preceded the wooden scrape of steps, and before Wilbur stood a man, dressed in green, two great silver wings with black etchings on the primaries spread behind him. It took Wilbur a moment to realize the wings were attached to the man, marking him a hybrid, but fortunately he’d never bought into that bunk about all hybrids being inherently evil. All that mattered to him was that he looked willing to help.

He tried to stand again, and seeing his struggle the man stepped forward, reaching out to help steady him. “Thanks…” He said.

“What happened here?” The man asked, looking up out the quarry, his brows furrowed. “This was a populated area last I flew over…”

“Zombie hoard.” Wilbur gasped out, couldn’t put weight on his leg, probably broken. “There were hundreds, maybe more. Might’ve been a glitch.”

“What makes you say that?” The man asked, before picking him up and using his great big wings to jump out of the pit. It was only marginally terrifying.

“Hunters found a weird mob earlier.” He replied, clinging to the man for the moment, his heart dropping when he saw his town.

Bodies. So many bodies. Blood covering the ground wherever he looked, sometimes other bits-the man promptly covered his eyes. He swallowed back bile and just barely managed not to be sick.

“I have a camp nearby.” The man offered, hand firmly held in place, as if Wilbur would be dumb enough to try and look again. “Let me take you there, and I can keep hunting for survivors.”

A part of him remembered the warnings, the rumors of evil hybrids kidnapping children, of luring away hapless individuals and doing unsavory things to them. He wondered if those stories ever took into account what the child left behind. “Okay. Thank you.”

The man left him in a comfortable little ‘nest’ built up in the trees, close enough that he could see the village, but far enough away that he couldn’t see the bodies. He was grateful for the consideration, but he hated the waiting.

He prayed.

Hours later, wingbeats signaled the man’s return, though the look on his face made Wilbur purse his lips in fear. “Did you…?” He asked.

The man’s face crumpled, and he shook his head. “I’m sorry.” He said. “I didn’t find anyone else.”

Tears fell from Wilbur’s eyes then, but his pride made him turn his face away, even as he choked. “Then I’m alone.” He wrapped himself in his arms, trying to keep himself from shaking apart. His parents, his friends…

“You can stay with me.” The man said, breaking through his grief. Wilbur turned to him, mouth gaping.

“Really?” He asked, surprised. Hybrid or not, a random traveler just offering a child a home wasn’t all that common, plus it wasn’t like he wasn’t of age to start exploring worlds on his own. He hadn’t wanted to, hadn’t bothered, servers sounded like a headache as it was.

The man just smiled, looking more than happy with the prospect. “Of course! Wouldn’t be a problem. I have another son already, just about your age. He could use the company. And this…” His smile fell, turned solemn, his eyes flickering to the now abandoned town. “No one should have to be alone after something like this.”

Wilbur thought for a moment, thought of all those horror stories and all the ramifications and where his life would lead, then he shoved it all out the door because it was too damn much for a thirteen year old, even an intelligent one, to deal with. “Okay.” He huffed, shoulders slumping as he nodded. “I’ll…stay with you. If you’ll have me.”

A hand settled on his shoulder, and Wilbur found it comforting. “What’s your name?” The man asked.

“…Wilbur.” He replied. “Wilbur Soot.”

“A pleasure to meet you Wilbur Soot.” Said the man, his hand squeezing Wilbur’s shoulder. “My name is Philza.”

Philza…the name struck a familiar chord in his memory, stories from the Hunters, about a winged hybrid that brought chaos and destruction wherever he went, about a man who regularly cheated death, and who brought pain down on whoever tried to hunt him. He was wanted, a criminal, a man with a title. The Angel of Death.

But Wilbur saw only a man, a man with a kind smile and a willingness to open his home to him, a man who searched an entire town ransacked by a stupid glitch that no one had bothered to fix, and who wanted to help the only survivor of the carnage.

That was more than the Hunters had ever bothered to do for him, but perhaps Wilbur was just bitter.

“Hello Philza. It’s nice to meet you.” He replied, and Philza smiled.

It wasn’t more than a couple years before he called the man ‘dad.’

**Author's Note:**

> Short chapter is short, they probably won't be THAT long. 
> 
> I say. When in a few chapters we'll probably be in the 30's range. Oi.


End file.
